Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Let Me Be Drunk

A person put it to me that cows go moo, I go drinking. That is true though I contend I do appreciate much more drinks after work or in a beer garden on a Saturday and being home by 10 o’clock than queues, shouting across a bar at people and bouncers. This is probably a symptom of some of the worse days of my life being caused by hangovers (and also wanting a pleasurable life avoiding said queues, hearing problems and angry paid thuggery).

I have done a lot of silly stuff, forgetting chunks and indeed complete black outs are not the exception, they are the rule after a worryingly small amount of drink, I’ve left behind wallets, laptops (both of which I recovered) and people, some of whose carpets I puked on to their mothers eternal frowning upon me as well as waking up not knowing where I am, kissing people I shouldn’t and falling over road works.

So I put it to you all that the problem is not the drinking, the problem is the stopping. I stop drinking, there are things misplaced, I can’t remember how I got home, where things are, what I said to whom and then of course there is the army of anvil grinding monsters marching around my head and the ructions in my stomach. And of course then there is the worry that I have spent the price of a holiday somewhere in Europe without even thinking. Drink should be our natural state. If I had been allowed to be drunk all throughout my childhood think how much happier those happiest of days would have been, my body could have adapted to the alcohol (barley, wheat, water, where’s the bad?) and I could have built up a tolerance so that there would have been no accidents, puking or memory loss if dam society had been more progressive or my parents had been more liberal.

Staying drunk means I would never wake up to harsh realities. All the crap you can face from the daily grind, trying to find a good woman, what people think of you, all can be happily relegated to the back of your mind via an express train sponsored by Carlsberg going one way. That continual happy, hazy, loquacious, free from the strains of the world ease as you sup down a cold pint, why should we give that up. The natural order of things should be to drink to get us through and then once through keep going with staggering ease. God I want a pint so badly as I write.

To those who turn bitter, angry, devious or any other negative personality trait I say dam you for being the kink in my plan for drunk utopia.